The Texas Ranger. Diana Palmer
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He was holding something back. She could see it in the way he looked at her.
“You know you can’t hide things from me,” she said abruptly. “What is it you don’t want to tell me?”
He shook his head and laughed. “I forgot that uncanny ability of yours to sense what people are feeling. Okay. They’re sending Marc Brannon to look into it,” he told her finally. He held up a hand when she froze and started to speak. “I know there’s bad blood between you, but Marsh is notorious. I want him as much as the D.A. does, so I’m going to send you over there to run liaison for my office during the investigation. I’ve got a bad feeling about this one.”
She wasn’t listening. She had a bad feeling about it, too. Her heart was racing. Two years. Two years. “You’ll have a worse feeling if you send me there. Can you see me and Brannon, working together? It will only be possible if they confiscate all his bullets and make me leave my stun gun here in Austin.”
He chuckled. Despite her tragic life, she was strong and independent and dryly funny. He’d hired her two years ago when nobody else would, largely thanks to Brannon, and he was glad. She had a degree in criminal justice. Her choice of jobs was to be an investigator in a district attorney’s office. Fate had landed her here, working on the Prosecutor Assistance and Special Investigation Unit for Simon. She could be loaned out to a requesting district attorney, along with other investigative personnel and even prosecutors, providing resources for criminal investigation.
It was a harrowing job from time to time, but she loved it. She had access to the respected Texas Crime Information Center. It boasted a statewide database on wanted persons and provided real-time on-line information to law enforcement agencies. Josette counted it as one of her biggest blessings during investigations, particularly those involving cybercrime.
“It’s nothing definite yet,” Simon added. “They’re still at the scene. The murder may not even be connected with Marsh, although I hope to God it is. But I thought I’d prepare you, just in case you have to go out there.”
“Okay. Thanks, Simon.”
“We’re family. Sort of.” He frowned. “Was it your third cousin who was related to my stepgrand-mother…?”
“Don’t,” she groaned. “It would take a genealogist to figure it out, it’s so distant.”
“Whatever. They can’t accuse me of nepotism for hiring you, but we’re distant cousins anyway. Family,” he added, with a warm smile. “Sort of. Like the staff.”
“I’m glad you think of them like that, because ‘Cousin’ Phil wants you to know that he likes his job and he’s sorry he messed up your e-mail,” she told him, tongue-in-cheek. “And he hopes you won’t take away his job with the Internet Bureau.”
His light eyes flashed. “You can tell Cousin Phil to kiss my…!”
“Don’t you say it,” she warned, “or I’ll call Tira and tell on you.”
He ground his teeth together. “Oh, all right.” He frowned. “That reminds me. What do you want in here, anyway?”
“A raise,” she began, counting on one hand. “A computer that doesn’t crash every time I load a program. A new scanner, because mine’s sluggish. A new filing cabinet, mine’s full. And how about one of those cute little robotic dogs? I could teach it to fetch files…”
“Sit down!”
She sat, but she was still grinning. She crossed her legs in the chair across the desk and went over the question she’d been faxed from a rural district attorney, who’d asked for a legal opinion. For Simon’s sake, she acted unconcerned that fate might fling her in the path of Marc Brannon for a third time.
But when Josette left Simon’s office, she was almost shaking. It had to be an easily solvable murder, she told herself firmly. She couldn’t be thrown into Brannon’s company again not when she was just beginning to get over him. She went through the rest of the day in a daze. There was a nagging apprehension in the back of her mind, as if she knew somehow that the murder in San Antonio was going to affect her life.
Her grandmother, Erin O’Brien, had been Irish, a special woman with an uncanny ability to know things before they happened. The elderly lady would cook extra food and get the guest rooms ready on days when the Langley family dropped in on “surprise” visits. She could anticipate tragedies, like the sudden death of her brother. When Josette’s father had stopped by her small home to tell her the bad news, she was wearing a black dress and her Sunday hat, waiting to be driven to the funeral home. It was useless to try to watch murder mysteries with her, because she always knew who the culprit was by the end of the first scene. Erin was Josette’s favorite person when she was a child. They shared all sorts of secrets. It had been Erin who told her she would meet a tall man wearing a badge, and her life would be forever entangled with his. When Marc Brannon had rescued her, at the age of fifteen, from a wild party and near-rape, Erin had been waiting at her parents’ home when Brannon drove her there in the Jacobsville police car, with her arms open. Marc had been fascinated by the old woman, even that long ago. Erin’s death before the family moved to San Antonio had devastated Josette. But, then, so had losing Marc two years ago. Her life had been an endurance test.
That evening, she went home to her tomcat Barnes in her small efficiency apartment and deliberately got out her photo album. She hadn’t opened it in two painful years, but now she was hungry for the sight of that tall, elegant, formidable man in her past.
She’d loved Marc Brannon more than her life. They’d come as close to being lovers as any two people ever had without going all the way, but he’d discovered a secret about her that had shattered him. He’d dragged himself out of her arms, cursed her roundly and walked out the door. He’d never looked back. Scant days later, Josette had gone to a party with an acquaintance named Dale Jennings and a wealthy San Antonio man had died there. Josette had accused Marc’s best friend, and a candidate for lieutenant governor, of the murder, citing that he was the sole heir of the old man. Brannon had used her past against her in court to clear his friend. They hadn’t spoken since.
It had been a fluke, that whole situation. She couldn’t really blame Brannon for defending his best friend. But if he’d loved her, he couldn’t have walked away that easily. And he wouldn’t have treated her like trash, either.
Most people around San Antonio said that Brannon wouldn’t know love if it poked him in the eye. It was probably true. He was a loner by nature, and he and his sister, Gretchen, had suffered terrible poverty in childhood. Their mother had died of cancer two years ago, not long after Josette had split up with Marc. Gretchen had been wined and dined and then horribly jilted by an opportunist when he discovered that she inherited little more than debts. Like her, both Brannons had known betrayal.
Barnes purred and rubbed against her arm, diverting her from her sad thoughts. She petted him and held him close. His loud purr vibrated against her skin and gave her comfort, like the weight of his big, furry body. He was a battle-scarred alley cat who’d needed a good meal and a bath. Josette had needed something to come home to after a hard day’s work. She’d never been able to walk past anything that was hurt or deserted, so she’d loved Barnes on sight. She’d taken him to the veterinarian for a checkup and shots and then she’d taken him home with her. Now, she couldn’t imagine life without him. He filled some of the empty places inside her.
“Hungry?” she asked, and he rubbed harder.
“Okay,” she said, sighing as she got to her bare feet and stretched lazily, her slender body twisting with the motion. Her hair was down around her shoulders. It fell like a golden cascade to her hips in back. Brannon had loved her hair like that. She grimaced. She had to stop remembering!
“We’ll split a hamburger, Barnes. Then,” she added with a wince, “I have to comb through a thousand files and download a dozen pages into the laptop for Simon. After that, I have to write a summary and take it back to Simon so that he can compose an opinion on it. Then I have to